


Against Your Orders

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: AU's FOR YOU [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hitman AU, M/M, One where the Gallaghers are rich, hot little fuckers, mention of smut- because im shit at it, sass-off really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:29:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey was a professional Hitman. His job was to find his target, manipulate that person, kill them and run away with no trace of evidence which could possibly draw the conclusion that he had done it. Mickey however, took a different work ethic and instead of killing the guy he let him fuck him hard into the soft mattress of a hotel room, kissing him as hard as he should be beating him. This happened every fucking time. </p><p>AU where Mickey is a hitman and is assigned to kill Ian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Against Your Orders

**Author's Note:**

> So, I really liked this idea of having one of them being a hitman and having to kill the other - but obviously they are two horny fuckers, who clearly love eachother like crazy, and well, yeh.

As usual Mickey was sent away to find his target, his only target, the one person he had been assigned to kill and yet he hadn't been able to do that for five years. It was typically easy; aim the gun, don't blink and pull the trigger. The most irritating factor, that made sure he wasn't able to shoot, was the fact the dick he called his target was a stubborn ass and always found a way to escape.

 

Iggy and Mickey were sent to the known location they had been given by the boss. He had made it clear that had to do it this time because the target had been causing more trouble recently. They found themselves as a charity dinner, something Mickey recognised wasn't so fake, but he had his suspicions. It had been held by the local Gallagher family who had managed to rise to the top due to two eldest brothers success – something to do with video games or some shit, Mickey had been told it had been helped by a huge amount of stolen weed and other drugs. Stolen from his boss.

 

“Man, how long do we have to fucking wait here for. My legs are giving me cramp standing up for this long.” Iggy whined as he leaned over the bannister that gave them a widespread view of the whole party. They were suited up to fit in, clean cut suits that were fitted for any type of running.

 

“Till he fucking gets here.” Mickey spat, fingers twitching for a cigarette. He'd been a hitman for years now and still hadn't got over the fact of not being able to smoke on the job. “When he's in sight we will get straight to it, I hate it as much as you, man.” They waited a while longer until the large doors opened and their target stepped out, surprisingly unseen to the crowd of the party.

 

“Shit, there he is.” Iggy nudged his brother, connecting his eyes with the smiling but bashful Gallagher that slipped through the amounts of people. “Fuck, he has got red hair. Maybe we should set him on fire, make it a bit more symbolic.” Iggy suggested, lamely.

 

Mickey punched him in the arm, head tilting to other guests that were slowly forming up the stairs. They didn't need to be fucking caught now. “Shut the fuck up, we're shooting him in the fucking head. That's what the plan was so that's how its gonna be.” He pushed himself up from his stance against the wooden, framed bannister and adjusted his suit.

 

“Go distract the rest of the Gallagher's, I'm going to slip the bug into his pocket.” Mickey ordered, eyes quickly casting over his target who he swore shouldn't be that fucking hot, especially if he had to shoot him in the head. He had to keep telling himself, _i'm not gay, I'm not gay._ This was his mission and he had to sort it out, once and for all.

 

“Can I chat up the sister, she's pretty fucking hot?” Iggy asked, following Mickey as they both took to the stairs. Mickey already knew which one Iggy was talking about because apparently all the people he took with him to kill the redhead wanted a bit of the brunette sister.

 

“Do whatever you want, man. Just don't blow our fucking cover, tonight is the night this will be done.” Mickey pushed him in the opposite direction, pushing himself through the crowd into the path of his target; Ian Gallagher. Just as he reached him he ducked his head, profoundly bashing into the tall fucker and sneakily slipping the bug into his pocket as their chests collided. Before the redhead could recognise him he walked away, making sure he didn't look back.

 

Mickey had slipped over to the table crowded with food, no one seemed to be around and this was probably the right time to listen into Ian's conversations. Just as he picked up a beer, because if its fucking free why-the fuck not, he felt someone standing next to him, picking at the food. Shit.

 

“I know what you're doing.” Shit. It was Ian. It was Gallagher. It was his fucking target that soon he would have to kill. _Keep you cool. Keep your fucking cool._

Mickey turned with a fake smile, finally taking a closer look at what he was dealing with. God, that fucker got taller, and  _more_ built. “What, getting a beer?You should get a fucking award for your observation skills.” 

 

The redhead had a smirk against his lips, his voice deep and tranquil. “You've had eyes on me all week. You and your brother have been watching me for the past hour.” It was hard not to take a look at his slowly moving lips, almost a trance of some sort. “My every move.” he stepped closer,  _way_ to closer. “My every conversation.” 

 

It was all getting too close for comfort, they were practically sharing the same fucking breaths. Mickey had enough of this. “Don't fucking flatter yourself, why would we want to watch you? Got better things to do with my time.” he grabbed for his beer, anything to distract himself from fucking this up. 

 

“Oh please, like you'd ever come to a charity dinner.” The redhead rose an eyebrow, voice beginning to grate of Mickey. He turned away, preparing to pull himself back into the party. “Oh, and next time you want to plant a bug on me make sure I don't see.” Ian reached into his pocket, pulling out the small device and chucking it into Mickey's chest. 

 

Catching it, he nearly stumbled against his next words. “Who do you think I am, some fucking spy?This ain't got nothing to do with me, I think you need to pick out your friends more clearly.” His eyes caught to Iggy who wasn't in any state to even help right now. Fucker. 

 

Ian hummed to himself, hands in his pockets like all of this was just a casual chat. One thing was clear; this fucker was a stubborn ass s _till_ and it was fucking annoying. “Goodbye, Mickey.” His name on his lips sounded like velvet as he rolled the words out. 

 

“Don't fucking call me that, you don't know me.” Mickey spat, eyes glaring more ferociously now. Because seriously, who the fuck did this guy think he was. 

 

The taller boy tutted his lips, licking the seams with a sniggering smile. “Oh I know you.” His eyes took in all that Mickey was, his eyes showing that hunger that made Mickey want to squirm in its presence. Again licking his lips, before turning away, he added. “I know  _all_ of you.” 

 

 

Mickey gulped harshly, his throat drying at the conversation he just endured. So, Ian already fucking knew. It made everything a million times harder but he was still going to do it. He stepped over through the crowd, making sure he didn't make any contact with Ian what-so-ever because that fucker had him sussed already. Iggy was chatting up the known Fiona Gallagher, the one not to mess with – he caught Mickey's death stare and excused himself.

 

“You plant it?” Iggy asked, his voice lower incase anyone happened to be listening in on them. 

 

Mickey shook his head, biting his lip anxiously because they might have fucked it all up, He might have fucked it all up. “Nah, that fucker is on to us. I'm going to wait till he's alone, put the bullet in his head and take a run for it. You keep doing what you fucking doing, just don't go shagging her while I'm gone, your driving us back.” Iggy nodded and off he went back to his routine matter of chatting up the possible witnesses. 

 

It took twenty whole minutes until Ian went off on his own. Mickey wished that ass wasn't such a social butterfly, maybe then he could of got out of there quicker and out of the itching fucking suit. Iggy tilted his head in signal, making Mickey follow his direction. Ian had left through a narrow corridor. Mickey followed. It was time. Five years was nothing compared to this moment. Ian had stepped into the end room, the door slightly open and in for Mickey's taking. He stepped in, making sure all the lights off. The Redhead was singing to himself in the bathroom suite, his voice slightly off key but it was starting to distract Mickey. 

 

As he had been trained he went as quick as possible. With hardly no sound at all he pushed his way into the bathroom, where Gallagher's back was turned, and he pushed his gun into the taller boys back. 

 

“Holy shit.” The redhead laughed. He fucking _laughed._ “What should I do in this situation, maybe I should put my hands up, is that what people do? _Or_ maybe I should cry about how my family needs me and beg you not to shoot because really you don't want to and all of his was some strange revenge act.” The fucker was teasing, he wasn't even intimidated as Mickey pushed him with a jab into the spine, into the main room. 

 

Mickey still hadn't said a word, one step away from pistol whipping the fucker because he literally wouldn't stop talking. “Just because the lights off doesn't mean I don't know who you are.” There goes the velvet voice again, something Mickey was beginning to hate almost entirely. 

 

“You don't fucking know me.” Mickey snapped, pushing Ian down to the large sofa forcefully, his gun still at aim. 

 

Ian sighed, his mouth curling up in the least afraid way possible. “Again with the act, its pretty pointless. You've been tracking me for years now.” Ian might aswell put his feet up, turn the Tv one and read a fucking book with how casual he was looking. Mickey wanted to pull the trigger right there, something was stopping him. 

 

“Except.” Ian started, his fingers lightly tapping his chin. “Everytime I'm right infront of you ready to have a bullet in my head, you always let me go.” Shit. “Isn't that against your orders, _Mick?”_

 

Mickey couldn't stop himself firing a punch to the rambling fucks face, his fist connecting directly to his jaw. The redhead palmed his mouth, grinning like he'd been given the noble prize. Mickey hit him again. “I don't know what the fuck you're talking about.” 

 

Ian spat the blood out onto the lament floor. “Hm, maybe I should show you.” Despite, the gun still being aimed, the redhead shuffled forward against the sofa, his eyes trailing all over Mickey's body and down his crotch, he licked his lips deliciously.

 

Mickey frowned, feeling that stupid, sudden horniness that he didn't know would possibly come from this. He pushed the metal into Ian's head, taking the safety off his gun. “Maybe I should shoot you in the fucking head. Afterall, it's my job.” 

 

Ian looked straight into his eyes, the first time their gazes had locked into place. He looked dangerous, but Mickey was far worse. “Do it. I dare you.” The redhead gripped the metal of the gun, his grin basked with the blood in his teeth – but it looked kinda hot – wait,  _ keep fucking cool. This is your job, get to it.  _

 

Like every time, Mickey thought about the conclusion of shooting him in the room. If he did it here, without a silencer, people would know. Someone would of noticed him following Ian, they probably would have had cameras in the room or some shit. Or maybe, Mickey was just trying to find reasons why not to kill the stubborn, smug fucker that was so confidently fearless. 

 

The strong, firm grip against his gun dropped. The redhead laughed to himself, or at Mickey. “See, you can't. You never could Mickey.” Again, Ian laughed, eyes still wandering over Mickey's body with hunger. 

 

Mickey regained his strong hold against his gun, lifting it more directly. “How do you know I won't do it now.” He asked, tilting his head like he always would if he was trying to scare someone. Something that obviously didn't work on Ian Gallagher. 

 

“Well, by the flush of your cheeks and the way he keep biting that lip, don't forget how your pants have gone suddenly so tight. It tells me you don't want to shoot me but you'd rather rip my clothes off.” Ian explained with a high, sniggering tone. 

 

Mickey consciously checked himself, shit, he didn't know he had been doing any of those things. “You think you're really fucking smart don't you? You think you can talk your way out of this. Think again.” He pushed the gun, once again, into the redhead's temple. This was his chance, five years and this could be all over. Just one pull on the trigger. 

 

Ian locked their eyes together, again, his features softening childishly. “How many years have we been doing this, and yet you've never changed. Not even a little.” Mickey could feel Ian's hand getting terribly close and he was starting to feel his fist clenching for another punch. “Face it Mickey we both know what you really came here for.”

 

The smaller boy gritted his teeth. “Yeh, to fucking kill your ass. One and for all.” His fingers twitched around his hold, finger flinching against the metal trigger that could be pulled any minute now. He just had to bash that wall down that blocked it every-fucking-time.

 

Ian sighed, playing with the buttons on his suit jacket. “You could of done that five minutes ago.” His eyes looked daring, but the fucker was right. Mickey could have shot him and been out of there by now. 

 

Bringing up a lame excuse, he put on a hard, braced face. “Maybe I want to wait.” Lying used to be his forte now it felt like he was failing at it the most. 

 

“Maybe you didn't.” Ian stood up, facing Mickey who still had the gun pointed to his head. Their chests were basically touching – breaths only a gap apart. They both knew what each other was thinking, they both licked their lips towards the other. Hunger vibrating through the air like a permanent sent. 

 

Before they knew it, Mickey had chucked the gun onto the chair and they were ripping at eachothers clothes. Ian pushed his bloody mouth into Mickey's and groaned a the smaller boy bit against his bottom lip. They stripped down with roughness, shedding their clothes like this was the last time. This happened fucking every time. Ian's hand gripped to the back of Mickey's head drawing him closer, their chests collided with a slap and he abruptly pushed Mickey onto the bed and got to work. 

 

Mickey was a professional Hitman. His job was to find his target, manipulate that person, kill them and run away with no trace of evidence which could possibly draw the conclusion that he had done it. Mickey however, took a different work ethic and instead of killing the guy he let him fuck him hard into the soft mattress of a hotel room, kissing him as hard as he should be beating him. This happened every fucking time. 

 

\- 

 

Ian pulled out with a pop, falling beside Mickey on the large bed they had just nearly broken with the force of how rough they got at it. Mickey was gasping for air, legs still shaking from the intense motion of Ian’s cock pounding into him, he pulled out a packet out smokes that Ian had brought and lit one up. 

 

The redhead was the first to talk. “Shit.” He cursed under his breath, still trying to grip hold of the spinning room. “I've missed that.” he grinned to himself, turning to his side and resting his head against Mickey's chest. 

 

Blowing out the smoke, Mickey tried to stop himself from playing with the little curls at the nape of Ian's neck. “Well if you fuck like that after three months I might just take longer to find you next time. Jesus, that was fucking good.” his freehand trailed along Ian's arms, memorizing each freckle and scar that he told himself he wouldn't remember. 

 

“I don't know you huh?” Ian winked, hand travelling down Mickey's happy trail, as he pushed Mickey's words back at him. 

 

Mickey caught that little sadness that Ian held back, he blew some smoke up to the ceiling. “It's easier to say when I know I can't have you.” Shit, when did he get so fucking open about stuff. Jesus, its what three months does to you, he guessed.

 

“Hm” Ian mumbled against his chest, kissing at the skin before lifting his head, resting his chin against the pale skin. “I'm not going to stop running.” He smirked up to Mickey, the only person in his life that actually gave him hope – in a strange way. 

 

“Why's that?” Mickey reached over to the side table and put of his smoke, he leaned back over and lightly stroked the skin of Ian's neck that still had a bite mark left. “You can't give me a break for like one fucking day?” 

 

Just as Ian laughed a long bang hit against the door, with a female voice attached to it. “Ian?! They're asking for you, you need to get your lazy ass out of bed and back to this party.” It was Debbie, overly-worried debbie. 

 

“Alright, I'll be out in a minute.” He sighed into Mickey's chest, wanting to feel this forever but he had to know by now that this would always be cut short each time they saw eachother. It didn't mean he felt any less. Getting up he started to replace his clothes, Mickey too. 

 

They were both formally ready, both in gear neither of them wanted to be in. “You never answered my fucking question, Gallagher?” Mickey pointed, letting Ian fix his tie. 

 

Ian leant down, his lips brushing against Mickey's ear. “If I'm always running you're always going to have to find me.” He licked at the lobe and pulled away, smirk from ear to ear. 

 

Mickey felt a lump in his throat but he couldn't help crack into a wide smile. “Damn straight, I'll be tracking your ass down till you're in a fucking nursing home.” He pushed his gun back into his belt, already forming a explanation of why Ian wasn't dead yet. “I'll tell Ig that you knocked me out or some shit. Might even punch myself in the face to make it believeable. Hey, can I take this?” He lifted up the ashtray that he guessed was worth a whole lot. 

 

Ian scoffed to himself, “Since when did you fucking ask. Take it you dickhead.” He walked towards the door, ready to face another couple of months without seeing Mickey. But they lived different lives, Mickey's job was to kill Ian. They would never be safe if they weren't always on the run. 

Mickey was too busy faffing around with the ashtray and the laces of his boots to notice Ian storming his way back. The redhead pulled him around by his arm and crashed their lips together, savouring that taste that was just  _Mickey._ Pulling away he pressed their foreheads together. “I'll be in Illinois in a couple of weeks, find me there.” 

 

Mickey tried, hopelessly, not to grin. “Just you fucking wait. I might even pop a bullet when I get there.” 

 

Ian opened the door, the light shining through the still-dark bedroom. “Hm,  I'm sure you will.” he winked sarcastically, leaving the room with mouthed three little words that meant everything to Mickey. 

 

That fucker might be a target, but it was  _his_ target; And Mickey still believed that he had never met someone so stubborn or smug in his whole fucking life. He raised his fist, ready to make a bullshit story about how Gallagher got the upper hand and escaped  _again._


End file.
